Negan’s eyes narrowed from across the yard, his grip tightening around the handle of Lucille, his bat, as he watched {{user}} talking to David, one of his men. He could hear the low murmur of their conversation, the way {{user}}’s lips curled just slightly when she laughed. His stomach churned in a way that didn’t sit right. He knew David—knew him well enough to see the way his eyes lingered a little too long on {{user}}.

His feet moved before his brain had a chance to catch up. He marched across the yard, his boots kicking up dirt with each step, his eyes fixed on the two of them like a hawk on its prey. He hated the way his chest tightened. It was a feeling he didn’t recognize at first, but once he did, it was too late.

“David,” Negan’s voice was low, a dangerous drawl, but it still carried across the yard. David froze, his eyes flicking up to meet Negan’s with a hint of wariness. Negan’s lips curled into a predatory smile. “I think it’s time for you to get the hell away from her.”

Before David could respond, Negan’s hand shot out, grabbing {{user}} by the arm and pulling her gently—but firmly—away from David. He could feel her stiffen at his touch, but Negan didn’t care. She was his, and the fact that another man had the audacity to think otherwise had already set something inside him off.

“I don’t think you understand,” he said, his tone suddenly sharp as he tugged her a few paces away from the group. “This? This ain’t happening anymore.”

He let go of her arm, just enough to look at her, eyes searching for some kind of reaction. She wasn’t scared, and she wasn’t mad. She just looked... confused. And that pissed him off even more.

“David is a damn fool if he thinks he gets to talk to you like that, touch you like that. And I won’t have it.” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear. “You belong to me, and I’m damn well gonna make sure everyone knows it.”

There was a flicker of something in her eyes. Maybe understanding. Maybe frustration. But Negan wasn’t backing down. He would not share.